


On the Clock

by J (j_writes)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You say stuff like that like you mean it too many times, and I might just start believing you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> suit porn with no redeeming value - blame Sirona & Listedheart for discussions of competent!Phil.

"What do you think, boss?" Clint asked, leaning back against the doorframe of the hotel room and adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "Would you want a piece of this?"

Coulson barely glanced up at him. "Barton," he said calmly, "if I had the time, I would take you apart right there against that door."

Clint grinned at him. "You say stuff like that like you mean it too many times, and I might just start believing you." This time, Coulson did look at him, direct and steady and with enough heat behind it that Clint felt most of his blood rushing rapidly downwards. "Jesus," he breathed out, "could your timing possibly be more for shit?"

Coulson raised an eyebrow at him, eyes traveling carefully over the lines of the suit. "I have my reasons," he said.

"Then it's too bad they'd have your head for so much as wrinkling this," Clint said.

"Too bad," Coulson agreed vaguely, and looked back down at his computer. He tapped his earpiece. "You on?"

"On," Clint confirmed, before deliberately reaching up to pull the earpiece out. 

Coulson's head snapped up. "Barton – " he began, and Clint leaned back against the door, lifting a wrist to look at his watch. 

"You've got five and a half minutes, sir. Can I make a suggestion or two about what you can do with them?"

"You can't be serious." 

Clint shrugged. "I mean, I could take care of things myself…" he offered, pressing a hand to his hardening cock through the fabric of his pants and watching the way Coulson's eyes followed his movement, "but it might be a little more… _efficient_ with some help." His lips curved into a smile. "I know you're into that sort of thing." Coulson hesitated, clicking his computer shut, and Clint arched up into his own touch. "Four and a half minutes."

A year ago, he'd have missed the way Coulson's lips parted just slightly, his eyes sharpening with want. Now, it was assurance enough to make Clint close his eyes, focus on the sound of Coulson crossing the room and the burst of static as he pulled out his earpiece, anticipating the feeling of Coulson's hand pushing his own out of the way and wrapping around him.

Instead, there was a long pause, a rustle, and when Coulson's fingers wrapped around Clint's wrist to pull his hand away, Clint's eyes snapped open to find Coulson on his knees in front of him, looking up at him with an expression that was close to a challenge. He pressed Clint's wrist back to the door, using the other hand to get his pants undone, and Clint couldn't stop a shiver from rushing through him as Coulson's hand reached into his pants to pull his cock free. "Easy, Barton," Coulson said, almost inaudible, his breath warm against the head of Clint's cock, and then he was ducking down, taking him into his mouth in one smooth motion.

Clint let his head thunk back against the door, letting his free hand drop to Coulson's jaw, feeling the movement of it as he sucked him hard and steady. He felt like he'd never been so turned on so fast in his life, with the feeling of Coulson's mouth hot and tight around him, the relentless grip against his wrist, holding him still, grounding him, making him want to push forward with his hips, see exactly how much Coulson would let him take. He arched experimentally, and Coulson made a low noise around him, and just like that he was so close, so desperate to come, his fingers tightening against Coulson's face – 

Coulson pulled off abruptly, his fingers digging bruises into Clint's wrist. "I had four minutes, Barton," he said, his voice sounding wrecked already. "Your time's not up yet."

Clint had to bite down hard on his lip to keep from letting out a truly obscene noise as Coulson leaned down to swallow around him again, and he only half succeeded. He let his hips move, pushing into Coulson's mouth, keeping a steady rhythm until the countdown in his head wound down and Coulson slid his thumb down Clint's wrist, a signal that sent him over the edge shaking and swearing.

He managed to drag his eyes open to see Coulson settling back onto his heels, carefully zipping Clint back into his pants. He looked up at Clint from his spot on his knees, eyes dark and turned on, face flushed, the marks from Clint's fingers still visible against his jaw, and he tucked his earpiece back in.

"Time's up," he said. "Back to work."


End file.
